


untitled #3

by unrem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Incomplete, M/M, Romantic Comedy, good content machine broke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrem/pseuds/unrem
Summary: His voice was lower than Lance remembered. He was leaner, and taller, and his shoulders were a little broader, his arms more defined. It was a problem. Something about Keith made Lance’s skin crawl and stomach turn, which was new; to him, most people were awhateverorGod, you’re the worst or a hey, you’re hot, let’s make-out and then never talk again. Keith seemed to be caught between the last two.





	untitled #3

**Author's Note:**

> i found this in my drafts and it was kinda cute so i thought i should post it lol
> 
> i'm not sure when/if i'll continue it, so here's an idea: if you like writing and feel like adding something to the story, go ahead and finish it :) gift it to me on ao3, in the comments, on my tumblr (@reminscees), idc 
> 
> enjoy <3

Junior year; math class; third row, centre, sitting there slouched in a black t-shirt and black jeans with a hole in them at the knee. His hair was a little too long-- at this awkward length-- and his nails were chipped. He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled it. 

Lance knew he recognised him from somewhere. 

“Hey,” Lance told Hunk in a hushed whisper; he didn’t want the others to hear, or the teacher, “Hunk--  _ Hunk! _ You see that guy?” He pointed a finger at him; right at the small sliver of pale skin exposed as he tied his hair in a pony-tail. 

“What?” Hunk replied, a little too loudly, “Who?”

Lance ground his teeth in annoyance.

“Third row, centre; with the emo hair,” he told Hunk. 

“Yeah? What about him?”

“D’you know him?”

“Who, Keith? Yeah, I know him,” Hunk said, “His name’s Keith. I’m in his homeroom.”

“Keith,” Lance tested, “God, what a horrible name.”

 

The syllables didn’t leave his mind; even when Lance was sprawled on his bed, laptop on his stomach. He scrolled through Hunk’s friends on Facebook-- the guy was too damn friendly, he knew everyone, and everyone knew him-- until--  _ bingo _ ; Keith Kogane looked back at him with sharp eyes and a smile that promised all sorts of fun. 

Lance scrolled through his profile; Keith seemed to be an ordinarily boring sort of guy, except-- he was in a  _ band _ ? Lance threw his laptop on his mattress and sat up, examining the photograph; Keith, standing on a murky, dark stage, with neon lights reflecting and contorting his features. A bass guitar hung from his shoulders, and his fingers gripped the microphone, mouth wide open and lips slick and red and  _ had they always been that full _ ;  _ were his legs always that long? _

Heat pooled in Lance’s stomach; boiling together with the familiar sense he’d felt when he’d seen Keith sitting there in math class. A cocktail of confusion filled him, until--

_ attended Eastern York middle school _ , and  _ bingo _ ; it all made sense.

 

When Lance spotted him in class the next day, he pulled Hunk to the side. 

“He went to the same middle school as me,” he hushed, “He fucking-- it’s  _ Keith _ .”

“What? Yeah, it’s Keith--”

Lance threw his head back and groaned.

“ _ No _ ,” he whined, “It’s  _ the  _ Keith;  _ the  _ Keith that always beat me to valedictorian, and  _ the  _ Keith that made it to--”

“The track and field team when you didn’t?  _ No _ !”

“ _ Yes _ !”

Hunk scratched at his chin.

“I mean,” he started, “The past is in the past, and he’s-- he looks-- normal, and a little lonely.”

Lance inhaled a deep breath. 

“I don’t care,” he said, “I’m not talking to him;  _ ever _ .”

 

Fate worked against Lance. That was nothing new. 

Five words; English class, group project, and  _ Keith _ .

“ _ So-o-o _ ,” drawled Lance, tapping his fingers against his notes, “It’s just you, me and Gatsby, huh?”

Keith licked his lower lip.

“Yeah,” he said, “That’s-- yeah.”

His voice was lower than Lance remembered. He was leaner, and taller, and his shoulders were a little broader, his arms more defined. It was a problem. Something about Keith made Lance’s skin crawl and stomach turn, which was new; to him, most people were a  _ whatever _ or  _ God, you’re the worst  _ or a  _ hey, you’re hot, let’s make-out and then never talk again _ . Keith seemed to be caught between the last two.

“Do you-- I’ll just do the odd questions, and you the even ones, yeah?” Keith asked.

“Sure,” wheezed Lance.

Keith nodded, and began to scrawl out some letter that became words that became well-composed and thoughtful sentences; he always had been better at English that Lance. Lance watched him. He watched the curve of his jaw, down to the lips as he licked them, then dug his teeth into his bottom lip; a nervous habit, it seemed. He watched how Keith rested his elbow on the table, and ran his hand through his hair, thus resting his head on his palm. His fingers were pale, Lance noticed, and long, and he wondered what they would feel like against his. 

All Lance could hear was the sound of his roaring blood in his ears-- it overcame the bustling noise of his classmates and teacher-- and all he could think about was  _ Keith, Keith,  _ **_Keith_ ** \--

It was beginning to wear Lance out.

“D’you we went to the same middle school?” he blurted.

Keith blinked at him.

“Really?” he murmured.

“Y-yeah,” Lance replied, scratching at his chin, “We-- we even were in the same class.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Oh,” Lance stated, “Well, that-- that makes sense, I mean, it was a long time ago, and I-- the only reason I remember  _ you  _ is ‘cause you had a better GPA than me, and it would make sense that you don’t know who does  _ worse  _ than you but only who does  _ better  _ than me-- than  _ you _ ! That makes sense; that… that makes sense.”

Keith stared at him; inhaled, then exhaled. 

“Yeah,” he replied. He turned his attention back to the worksheet in front of him after a beat or two. 

Lance couldn’t even bring himself to pick up his pen. 

“Did you like it?” he asked. 

Keith looked up. 

“What?” 

“Middle school,” Lance told him, “Did you-- did you like middle school?”

Keith shrugged.

“Not really,” he said, “Does anyone?”

Lance laughed at that; a little too forcefully, and a little too loudly.

“You know…,” Keith said, “You should… you should probably finish those questions…”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Lance replied, “On it!”

He picked up his pen.

_ To what extent does the American dream fail in  _ _ The Great Gatsby _ _? _

Lance sighed.

“You know,” he drawled, “I’m not really an English person, you know what I mean?”

Keith exhaled a trembling breath.

“No,” he gritted.

“I mean, like; math and science are more my thing. Physics is my  _ bitch _ !” 

Keith snorted.

“You got fourth place at the science fair in seventh grade,” he told Lance, “ _ That  _ I remember.”

Lance remembered it, too; he remembered his trembling hand as he held his certificate, and how tears streamed down his face out of sheer happiness, and he remembered how happy his mom was, too. She’d framed a photograph she took of him and his dad, standing before his project and his poster. He held his certificate and ribbon, and his dad had his arm around him. He was happy, too. He’s dead now.

“God,” Lance sighed, “When d’you become such a goddamn asshole?”

Keith whipped his head up.

“I’m not an asshole,” he snapped, “I’m just stating the facts;  _ you’re  _ the one distracting me with your cute little walk down memory fucking lane!”

Lance fumed.

“Whatever,” he told him, “Shut the fuck up, ass-face.”

“Piss baby,” Keith replied.

“Shit fuck.”

“Ass--”

“ _ Keith! Lance! Get back to work! _ ” 

At the sound of his teacher’s voice, Lance stared down at his worksheet, which was a shame. Games like this were fun. Keith was fun, it seemed; he was unfairly pretty, and fun to argue with. Maybe he was Lance’s soulmate, he wondered. Either that, or mortal enemy, which would be a shame. Keith really was pretty, even if he was a bit mean, but that was fine; it was hot. 

With brute force, Lance realised he wanted to get to know Keith; he wanted to talk to him, and hold his hand, and kiss him all over. 

_ To what extent does the American dream fail in  _ _ The Great Gatsby _ _?  _ Lance read. 

_ It fails to a large extent because dreams aren’t real, and everyone dies at the end except Daisy, I think, so it fails,  _ he’d written,  _ Also, everyone is super annoying, even Nick. He’s whiny. Tom is the worst, though. Tom is mean and small minded. Jordan’s kind of cool, I guess. She’s my type. I like strong, independent women who don’t need no man. She’s also totally gay. There’s no way she’s straight, trust me, I know ‘cause I’m-- _

 

“I mean, maybe it’s just because I’m queer as  _ fuck _ , but I think I’m joining the swim team; either that, or track and field, or maybe volleyball. Those little shorts just do it for me. What d’you think, Pidge?”

Pidge swallowed their bite of their sandwich; it was peanut butter and jelly day, since it was a Thursday.

“I don’t know, and I really don’t care,” they replied, “Just be careful; you might end up in the same club as Keith.”

Lance groaned.

“ _ God _ !” he shouted, “I hate that guy!”

“Do you?” Hunk leered, “Do you  _ really _ ? He’s kind of cool; he’s got that bad-boy vibe. Hey, Pidge, did you know that he’s in a band?”

“Really?” Pidge asked, “What’s he play?”

“Bass guitar.”

“That’s hot,” Pidge stated.

Lance pulled at his hair, and hid his face in the crook of his elbows.

“I know,” he whined, “It’s really hot. He’s really, hot; he’s  _ perfect _ .”

Hunk sighed.

“I’d say ask him out, but he hates you; I think-- maybe. It’s hard to tell, since he doesn’t talk to you;  _ ever _ ,” he told Lance. Lance whined once more, a horribly pathetic nasally noise. Pidge patted his shoulder. 

“You’ll get there. Lance, you beautiful spinster, I will find you--  _ hey _ ,  _ Keith _ !” they shouted. Lance lifted his head, a little, and then winced. Keith had stopped walking, and turned his head. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Are you thinking of joining any clubs? Lance wants to know, ‘cause he--”

“ _ Pidge! _ ”

“-- wants to avoid you;  _ totally  _ wants to avoid you.”

_ Oh, thank God. _

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“I dunno,” he said lowly, “I-- track and field, maybe. I didn’t make the team last year.”

“ _ What _ ?” shrieked Lance, “Keith-- the great and beautiful  _ Keith _ didn’t make the team?  _ Oh, man _ !”

Keith shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said, “I mean, I  _ made it _ but-- I couldn’t  _ be on it _ ‘cause I failed physics.”

“Physics, huh?” Hunk said, “You’re not good at physics?”

Keith dug his teeth into his lower lip.

“No,” he said, “I-- not really.”

“That’s funny,” drawled Pidge, “See, my friend Lance here is in advanced physics, on a straight, solid, perfect A.”

“Good for him.”

“ _ So-o-o _ ,” sang Pidge, “Maybe you two could have some… one-to-one tutoring?”

Hunk giggled behind his hand. Lance bit at the inside of his mouth. His face must have been bright red, surely.

“Okay,” Keith said, “That sounds-- sure.”

Lance made a small noise at the back of his throat. 

“Do you… maybe want to exchange numbers, or something?” Pidge suggested.

Keith shrugged. Hunk jostled Lance to pull out his phone out his pocket. He handed it to Keith, who typed in his number. Their fingers brushed briefly as he handed it back.

“Thanks,” voiced Lance in a frail breath. 

“No problem,” Keith replied, “Text me.”

Then, he was gone; his black combat boots thudded against the floor. Lance watched him leave; how his hair swayed a little, how perfectly curved his ass was. 

“I’m going to die,” Lance said. The harsh lights of the cafeteria created a halo around Keith’s head. He turned around, and gave Lance a little wave. A smile stretched his lips. “I swear to God, I’m going to die.”

 

It took Lance three days, five hours, and seventeen minutes to text him. 

_ hey, it’s lance _ , he’d written; Hunk drafted it for him, ‘cause Hunk was friendly and kind and just a far better person than Lance was. 

Lance laid on his bed, phone to his right. It buzzed; Lance grabbed it, and unlocked it. 

“Fucking--  _ twitter _ ,” he muttered. 

He threw his phone to his side, and then, it buzzed again; a message.

_ hi _

Lance fell out of his bed. Keith had replied so quickly; maybe he’d been waiting, too. The thought seemed absurd. Then;

_ i’ve got a test on vectors next week. when are you free _

Lance exhaled a trembling sigh.

“Fuck,” he mouthed. 

_ i’m free whenever. tomorrow after school, maybe? _

His phone buzzed once more.

_ sure _

Lance punched the air in excitement.

_ ya boi has a maybe-date with keith!!!!!!!!!!! we’re gonna be “””studying””” together on monday ;)))))  _ he sent into the groupchat; the one with just Pidge and Hunk.

_ Lol  _ was the only reaction he’d gotten; from Pidge.


End file.
